


Where He Waits for Me

by icbiwf



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:16:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1404484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icbiwf/pseuds/icbiwf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fantasy: An illusion, hallucination, fable, or daydream. Fantasies are mental images about events that have not happened but often fulfill a psychological need or wish." After Peeta is rescued from the Capitol, there's only one place Katniss wants to be. A submission for Prompts in Panem Language of Flowers week. Prompt: Queen Anne's Lace/Fantasy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where He Waits for Me

Peeta's awake already, sitting on the side of the bed, looking bewildered as a trio of doctors reassure him, flash lights in his eyes, check his pulse. I'm disappointed that mine was not the first face he saw when he woke, but he sees it now. His features register disbelief and something more intense that I can't quite place. Desire? Desperation? Surely both, for he sweeps the doctors aside, leaps to his feet, and moves toward me. I run to meet him, my arms extended to embrace him. His hands are reaching for me, too, to caress my face, I think.

My lips are just forming his name when his hands grasp either side of my face and any sound I might have made is swallowed by his kiss.

I throw my arms around his neck so I can pull myself up and press my lips even more firmly against his. My fingers tangle in his shaggy, unkempt hair. Peeta's lips are dry and chapped, his lower lip slightly swollen. I try not to let myself dwell on how that must have happened, and instead concentrate on the delicious feeling of Peeta's lips moving against mine once again, something I've experienced a thousand times but was only just starting to properly appreciate when it was taken away from me. So many nights I had spent in my compartment dreaming of a moment like this, alone with only Peeta's pearl to comfort me. Now, at last, I have Peeta with me once again.

Too soon, Peeta leans back, panting for breath. I don't even chastise myself for claiming his airway when he's in this fragile state; I know he needed that moment as badly as I did. Peeta stumbles against me slightly. I pull my arms away from his neck and wrap them around his torso, allowing him to lean on me for support but also holding us as close together as possible. His body is so thin, thinner than I've ever felt him. Peeta's chin rests on my shoulder and his arms wrap around my back.

"Peeta," I finally manage to say, my voice breaking. I try to repeat his name in a steadier voice, but the sound that escapes my throat is closer to a sob.

"Katniss," he breathes against my hair. His voice is shaky and weak, much like he is himself. I can feel his body trembling just from the effort of standing here, and begin walking us back to his hospital bed.

Peeta audibly sighs when I lower him back onto the bed, but when I try to stand straight he won't let go of me. "Please don't leave," he pleads, his eyes wide with desperation.

"I'm not going anywhere," I say, but it doesn't calm him at all. I take his hand in mine and squeeze it tightly, and look directly into those blue eyes that gave me comfort through so many trials. "Peeta, I'm never letting them separate us again."

…..

When I wake up I'm lying in a tube, no bigger than the cylinders that lifted me into two arenas. Whirs and clicks surround me, a quiet cacophony of machinery. I try to move only to find that I'm strapped down. My neck is throbbing in pain, it's like I can feel the imprints from each and every one of his fingers. I don't know if it's the damage to my throat or the close quarters of the tube, but I struggle for every breath. I pull against my restraints, desperate to escape, when I hear a speaker crackle to life. "Hold still, Soldier Everdeen," a voice calls from nowhere and everywhere. "We can't get a clear scan if you don't stop moving," the voice tries again, but the bizarre sourceless voice only exacerbates my rising panic. "It's no use, just knock her out again…" the voice says tiredly before the speaker cuts off with a loud snap. I have only a moment to fear what drugs they're going to pump into me before I lose consciousness.

…..

The doctors and nurses are finally done, and it's just Peeta and me in here now. I feel more relaxed with everyone gone; I'm sick of all my time with Peeta being spent in front of an audience. The lights are dimmed because the doctors want Peeta to sleep. Instead he's propped up into a half-sitting position on his hospital bed, and I'm sitting cross-legged next to him, feeding him broth. It's almost exactly like the cave in our first Games, right down to how hard Haymitch and I had to fight to get the broth. I swear the doctors here are convinced that starved patients should only regain their strength in compliance with the standard Thirteen meal schedule.

Peeta is doing remarkably well considering everything he's been through. No broken bones, no deep stab wounds, no serious infections. No blood poisoning. They pumped some fluids through the tube in his arm to relieve his dehydration, and it'll take some time with regular meals to relieve his malnourishment and regain his old strength. But soon enough he should be back to the solid, strong Peeta he's always been. He even took the news of his family's death in stride.

"Snow told me about it, so I guess I've had time to accept it," he'd explained. "He showed me footage of the bombings and told me they were all dead. I didn't want to believe him, but he did say we wouldn't lie to each other."

I couldn't help my snarky response. "Yeah, good old Snow. He'll kill everyone you love, but far be it from him to feed you a string of lies."

"He didn't kill everyone I love," Peeta had said to that, his deep blue stare seeming to grow more intense with his words. After a moment I looked away and let one of the nurses pass between us.

Now we're quiet as I serve him spoonful after spoonful of broth. I'm focused on what I'm doing, not wanting to spill any of the hot broth on him. Peeta just watches me with a slight smile on his face.

"I missed that scowl," Peeta finally says. I hadn't even realized that I was scowling while I was concentrating on the broth, but now I can feel every muscle twitch that goes into the involuntary scowl Peeta's comment puts on my face. Peeta just laughs at my reaction. "Seriously, Katniss. You don't know how nice it is to have something familiar here amidst all this chaos."

"Of course I do," I reply. "I probably would have lost my mind by now if Prim wasn't here."

"And your mother," Peeta says. "And Gale."

"They helped," I admit. "But it's been pretty horrible here without you."

Peeta seems surprised by this. "Really?"

"Of course," I say. "You're the only one who understands. You're the only one who's been through everything I have. Gale is just a hundred percent gung-ho for the rebellion; he doesn't get that not everyone in the Capitol is necessarily an enemy and not everyone opposed to them is necessarily a friend. Mom and Prim are busy at the hospital 26 hours a day, they don't have time to sit around and mope with me. Haymitch is just around to make sure I stay useful to 13. The only person I could stand to spend any time with was Finnick."

"Why Finnick?" he asks.

I shrug. "He was going through the same thing i was," I say.

I go to give him more broth, but he holds up his hand. "I think I've had enough for now."

"Don't waste your opportunity. Greasy Sae made this for you. It may be the most flavorful thing you get to eat here in 13," I say.

"You finish it," he tells me.

I frown at the suggestion. "I'm not the one who hasn't been fed properly in weeks."

"Not according to what you've been telling me about the food here," he says. "You look thinner." His eyes are filled with concern; concern for me. After everything he's been through, he's still worried about me. I suppose I should be used to it by now. Peeta's priority is always me; nothing could change that.

"How about we save it for later?" I offer, setting the bowl down on a side table. Peeta acquiesces, knowing I'm just as stubborn about his well-being as he is about mine.

We're quiet for a bit after that, and I can see Peeta's eyelids drooping. I stand quickly and move towards the door, silently berating myself for keeping him up when he obviously needs his rest. "I'm sorry, you must be exhausted. I should go and let you sleep-"

"No!" Peeta calls out, the slightest bit of panic edging into his voice. I turn back to him, and he takes a breath to steady himself before speaking again. "Um, you can go if you want. I don't want to keep you from other things."

I almost roll my eyes. "I already told you all I do is shoot videos. Besides, you're my only priority now."

Peeta's lips quirk up into a slight smile at this declaration. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I blush, thought I don't know why. "But you're obviously tired, and I don't want to keep you up."

"Will you stay with me?" he asks. "It's just… I spent so many nights in that cell. I don't want to be alone tonight."

I freeze for just a moment, swept away by a memory. The day I broke my heel, and Peeta carried me to bed. I asked him to stay with me that night. I know he answered me, but I don't remember what he said; the sleep syrup pulled me under too quickly and I didn't hear him.

"Of course I'll stay," I say. "Do you want me to lie down with you?"

"Please," he breathes out, almost as a sigh of relief. He lifts the blanket where I had been sitting in invitation. I gratefully tuck myself into his side. His arm cradles my shoulders, and my head finds its usual spot just above his heart. As weakened as Peeta's body has become during his captivity, his heartbeat is as strong as ever, steady and solid in my ear. The sound that steadied me through two arenas and the Victory Tour. Hearing it again now, I feel like I can finally relax for the first time in forever.

"I don't know when the last time was that I had a decent night's sleep," Peeta says. "Maybe that night we spent together before the interviews."

"Me, too. I never sleep more than a few hours here unless they drug me," I say. "But you can sleep now, Peeta. You're safe here." Then I add, "I'll keep you safe."

Peeta's arm pulls me more tightly against him. I welcome it. "You, too, Katniss. I'll keep you safe. Always."

…..

Terror. Venom. Conditioning. Hijacking. The words rattle around in my head. I can't make sense of them. How could they turn Peeta into a monster set on killing me? I thought i had already known the depths of depravity the Capitol was capable of, but it turns out I had no idea. No idea at all. Because this is worse even than sending kids into the arena. Worse than the tribute-mutts from my first Games. Worse than what they did to Finnick. They've literally turned Peeta into a weapon, scooped out huge parts of what made him Peeta and replaced them with Capitol programming. And who is here to share the news with me? Prim, my baby sister, who has already been forced to grow up far too fast and experience horrors no child ever should. Haymitch, the man who sent us into that second arena blind and uninformed, and who did nothing to get Peeta back from the Capitol for weeks and weeks and weeks, did nothing until I was no longer useful to the propaganda effort. Beetee, who describes the whole thing like it's just another interesting puzzle, not a good and decent person who's been tortured and ruined. And Plutarch, the esteemed Head Gamemaker, who cares so little for lives that aren't useful to him that he casually mentions the live televised murders of four more people because he thinks the news will cheer me up.

The collar around my neck is supposed to be helping me heal, but it does nothing to dull my pain when sobs tear through my damaged throat, leaving me gasping for air once more. Just when I think I might pass out, a nurse appears to sedate me.

For the first time, I welcome the drugs. Yes, sedate me. Put me to sleep. Send me back into my dreams. They're the only place where the boy with the bread still waits for me.


End file.
